Of Ghosts and Khajiits
by Swimmy-the-ninja-fish
Summary: When Danny falls ill Clockwork sends him to skyrim to not only save himself, but to save a world that isn't his own. Rated T for for violence and dirty mouths.
1. Chapter 1

Hello internet! While this isn't my first fanfic, it IS my first crossover and it IS the first one that wasn't a collab. Therefore it is the first one posted to my account. I realize that I don't write as well as the person I normally collab with (ember53608), but I do want to change that. So, here we go.

(Oh hey, look at that! I'm back –sort of- and trying to fix my awful grammar and spelling. :3 you might get a new chapter in a few days….)

It had been just short of 4 months after he successfully saved the world from the disasteroid when he took ill. He suspected it was Vlad's work – through Skulker- but said nothing of it to his parents. Danny didn't want to worry them any more than they already were, with him being sick and all. It started out as not much more than the symptoms of a cold. Danny was run down and tired, he coughed and he sneezed, but he thought he would get better. As time progressed, so did the illness. It went from cold to flu, from flu to pneumonia, from pneumonia to worse. He was bedridden, with no energy to move. He coughed and sneezed to no end. He shifted in and out of ghost form as easily as he did the conscious world. He spiked fevers no ghost should and got colder than any human possibly could. His parents worked as feverishly as he was to find a cure to his ailment, though they trusted no outside solution. Sam, Tucker and Jazz patrolled the Ghost Zone in hopes that something could be found, but nothing ever showed up. As the days turned into weeks, Danny's health worsened. The citizens of Amity Park saw only a spark of hope left for their ghost boy, the Fenton's saw not much more, but on they worked.

Danny shivered violently once more, trying to throw off the hallucinations of ghosts past (quiet literally). He no longer wanted to see himself blasted to bits by Technus or as a pelt on Skulker's wall. These hallucinations only went from bad to worse and he feared what he would soon see if he couldn't rid himself of the images.

"Time out," said a familiar voice, and his hallucinations faded from his mind. Relief flooded his mind as his room came back into view, a blue, middle-aged ghost in a purple cape look down a Danny with red eyes.

"Clockwork," our boy hero croaked, had he had the energy, he might have said more.

"Ah, Danny, I've got a job for you."

Danny stared disbelievingly at the master of time, the one who knew all. For, you see, even Danny, the one with hero complex, knew he was in no shape to get out of bed. Clockwork aged in front of Danny's eyes, now a hunched old ghost with a long white beard.

"All you have to do is pull yourself together long enough to help a person and she will find you the cure. And to ensure you can do just that I have brought you some… eh… temporary relief." Clockwork pulled out a bottle and moved to prop Danny up far enough to pour it down his throat. Moving back, Clockwork crossed his arms and waited. The raven-haired boy's eyes widened as his fever broke a new high and then dropped. His vision cleared and his aches became less achy. He sat up on his own for the first time in weeks. Clockwork smiled slightly and motioned for Danny to follow him through a portal back to his lair. Running a hand through his already ruffled hair, Danny stood up wobbly and walked through the portal. Clockwork followed behind, but not before a quick "Time in."

Phantom and Clockwork floated before a haze that showed a cat person in not much more than rags sneaking up to a large stonewall. She looked much like a tiger, red with black stripes and white about the mouth, large green eyes filled with an emotion not expected in a criminal. Her tail flicked as she ran, but unbeknownst to her a large muscled soldier waited of the other side of a rock with a wooden club ready to stop her.

"That is Adarji," Clockwork said, "the one you must help."

"What is she?" Danny questioned, truly puzzled at the strange combination a beast and human.

"A khajiit," clockwork replied simply and motion back toward the haze. The picture had changed; it showed the khajiit bound in the back of a wagon with three men. The picture changed again, showing her on a bloodstained anvil with an executioner readying his axe as a dragon soared over and began to attack. Saved, the khajiit ran. Things moved faster now, he saw her jump out of a burning tower into a burning building, he saw her watch as one man who was helping her kill another who had tried. He saw her grab the dead man's sword and run off through a series of tunnels away from the dragon. He watched as she came upon guards who spat at her and threatened her. The picture moved faster now, Danny only caught bits and pieces. A large city surrounded by thick walls. A man on a throne. Soldiers and a strange dark skinned pointy eared woman fighting a dragon alongside her. The man again, and a woman. A river and a large cat with huge fangs, the woman dead and floating down the river. And the still the picture moved faster. Time after time he saw dragons. Time after time he heard her shouts. He saw many people fall beside her, and yet she remained. The haze slowed on a dragon so large it dwarfed all the others he had seen, and still, she fought. It sped forward to the same dragon dripping blood and fleeing. Once more the haze blurred, and a last showed the dragon dead and Adarji standing over it, bent with exhaustion. Then the haze went black.

"That is who you must help," a middle-aged clockwork murmured.

"She looks like she can handle everything just fine," the teen turned to Clockwork, wondering what he could possibly do to help such a person.

"But you need her help as much as she needs yours," Clockwork waved his hand in front of the haze and brought forth Adarji, dressed in tight fitting brown leather armor, her pointed, pierced ears hidden beneath a large hood. A dark, winged bow drawn in front of her as she slowly crept around a dark house. As she turned the corner she was met by ten heavily armed men and one man in robes, outstretched hands glowing. Baby Clockwork spread his hands wide, "and here is where you come in, she will not make it out of there alive if you do not help her."

Turning his eyes back to Clockwork, "But she's stealing!"

The master of time sighed, "That may be, but her world needs her, as do you."

Danny frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted, "And if you don't hurry the effects of the skooma will wear off and you will not get another chance. If you want to live through this illness you will go." He motioned at the haze. Phantom turned, nodded once and flew through the haze.

Yep! That's right! A DP Skyrim crossover. There certainly aren't many of these. I am kind of upset, this was a whole 2 pages in word... now it looks so short...  
>Anyways, like it? Hate it? Want to burn it? Lemme know! Just click that magical little review button down there and leave a comment.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much to anyone who added this story to their alert or clicked the magical review button. you guys are the greatest. I'm not altogether sure i liked this chapter so much... but it had to be done.

And so, without further ado, the second chapter!

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><p>Flying through the haze wasn't anything strange. There was no gut wrenching, ear popping pull. It was the same as every ghost portal he had ever been through, here then there. The only difference was that once he was through the haze, it disappeared. A guard gasped at his sudden appearance behind the khajiit target, shifting his arrow's aim from the khajiit to Danny. Several guards followed his example, more scared of an ethereal being than a simple thief. Adarji saw this as an opening and let her arrow fly. It embedded itself in a guard's forehead with a dull thunk and a spray of blood. Making a decision to not let anyone else get hurt, Danny went intangible, grabbed our khajiit thief, and flew threw the shocked guards.<p>

He felt a tinge in his head as Clockwork's warning came to mind. He wouldn't last long, and he needed a place to sit down. Spying a copse not far from the wooden house he had left, he rushed to reach it as the illness crept back. Clockwork's medicine - skooma, was it? - was not going to last much longer. Not that the struggling khajiit beneath him was helping.

The return of the illness was nothing subtle. He steadily dropped lower and lower, unable to maintain his flight through the air. He crash-landed before a black horse and a dark campsite not far inside the copse. Adarji had managed to roll to her feet as Phantom skidded to a stop against a tree. As his vision went fuzzy, he saw her grab a dagger from her side and rush at him. Then, it was back to the land of hallucinations and ghosts.

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><p>(Adarji)<p>

After that being had grabbed me in the house, I felt sure that today was the day that Nocturne would take her payment. A khajiit like me, even a dragonborn, can only have a run of good luck for so long. I thought it would be the end, not just to be thrown in jail or to miraculously escape. No, the end of life itself. The being glowed with an ethereal light, but no more could I see. For it was then that he hurtled at the wall. What a death for the mighty dragonborn who took down Alduin, the world eater. To be smashed against a wall. Oh, how the bards would tell tales of her.

But that was not to be had, for instead, it flew me _through _the wall. Intangible, as is only a spirit_. _But why not kill me then and there? Why drag me off? To sacrifice me to a daedric prince that had bound it in death? Or was it working for a necromancer who had a grudge? These thoughts and a million more rushed through my head as he carried me towards the small copse of pines where I had tied my horse and set up a camp to wait for nightfall. I hadn't wanted to seem suspicious, hanging around the town all day.

The being sagged suddenly, jerking me back to the realization that I should escape it before I got stuck in something I couldn't get myself out of. And so, like any helpless (or not so) damsel in distress, I struggled. That was all that I could do as it gripped my arms, ridding me of any hope for a weapon. My hands were numb from the amount of weight that was suddenly upon them. So neither could I stab nor scratch him. No, just struggle. And so struggle I did, encouraged by the sight of the ground nearing my feet. Either his destination was my camp or I was getting somewhere. As he entered the trees my feet brushed the ground. Ah, sweet ground! Khajiit were not meant for the air. No sooner had my feet skimmed the decay than did this being drop me and slam against the ground. With a quick roll I sprang to my feet and whipped a dagger from my side. Thudding to the ground in a shower of needles, the being came to a stop at the bottom of a tree.

My first look at him was surprising, for indeed it resembled a human boy. One not old enough to shave, at that. He had white hair and skin much like an Imperial's. He wore strange clothing of black and white, a white rune across his chest. He looked sickly, his eyes fluttering open and closed. But I was not about to leave my death in the hands of fate, so I sprung forward to kill before I could be killed.

His eyes fluttered once more with acceptance of his fate as I neared. No sooner had I reached his side, ready to strike, when a ring appeared around his body. Jumping back, I swore. This ring glowed with the same ethereal light that surrounded the spirit. Not knowing what to do and not wanting to get zapped by an unknown magic, I stood crouched not too far away, watching dumbly as the ring split into two which traveled away from each other along his body.

Once gone, a normal boy was revealed, no longer glowing. He now had the dark hair of an Imperial and the pale skin of a Nord. He wore strange garments, at best guess a white tunic dyed red in places, along with pants of a blue fabric I didn't recognize. But his face looked so sickly. Whatever the boy was, he was in need of help. I was not a child killer, for that crossed the line.

So, I stood cautiously and prodded him with a foot. He shivered fiercely and emitted a small groan, but did not stir. I sheathed my dagger and crouched next to his face. Placing the back of one furry hand against his forehead, I gasped. Even a khajiit like me knew what temperature a person shouldn't reach, and this was far beyond that. Knowing that no person, human or not, could withstand such a fever for long, I wasted no time in picking him up.

He was unnaturally thin, every rib protruding from his chest. This child, whatever he was, had not been well in a long time. Hurrying him to my bedroll, I laid him down and began to work. I was most certainly **not **a master healer, but knew the basics of a healing spell, as any adventurer worth their septims should. He would need a master, that much was obvious. But Whiterun was a good hour's ride from this small town, and the boy didn't appear well enough to last that long.

Kneeling, I spread my hands over the shivering wretch and began to murmur. On through the night I murmured, the moon becoming brighter and the wolves beginning to howl. My stomach growled and exhaustion gnawed at the edges of my vision; it was not until I could speak no more that I quit. While the boy looked no worse for wear, he looked no better either. It seemed that a small healing spell like mine would not help the raven haired boy.

I sat back on my heels and gathered myself. What else could I do for the boy? My pack caught my eye and I snatched it from the ground, rummaging through it for the three things that might help him: a large red bottle, the most potent healing potion I had; a small opaque bottle, a potion of disease cure that had been a pain to get my hands on; and lastly, a small green bottle that had contributed to the khajiit's bad name. Skooma.

I hated this drug, this drug that had taken my mother. But traveling with it was a must, for at times when one couldn't go on, a little skooma could always get them on their way. Setting down my bag and hurrying to his form with the three bottles, I gently picked his head up far enough to pour the liquids down his throat. The healing potion did little more than stall his shivering, and the potion to cure disease was simply wasted.

As I held the skooma in my clawed hand, I despised myself for what I had to do. Despite the fact that it was the only option I had left, I did not want to introduce someone to a drug like skooma. Shutting my thoughts off there, I forced myself to remove the stopper and pour this drug, this killer, down his throat.

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><p>(Danny)<p>

For starters, I kind of remembered the cat-tiger… thing rushing at me with a dagger. And then there were the hollow dreams and vivid hallucinations. I remember darkness and two glowing spots moving above me. I remember the familiar feel of the skooma; not the feeling of almost normalness, but the feeling of not dying. Something furry behind me reached around me and yelled as we bumped through the night. There was a helmed man, too, worry in his eyes as he waved us into a fortress.

A robed woman gasped a little worriedly as she me ushered somewhere. A while later, I thought I heard chanting and saw a faint glow. Between those memories, which were actually more feelings than memories, were more of the terrors called hallucinations. I would call them living nightmares, 'cause they definitely seemed more real than life.

Even now, as I opened my eyes, things didn't seem real. The edges of the world were fuzzy, just like one of the concerned faces above me. But this world had to be real, right? Still, the green eyes of the fuzzy face were pale, not piercing, as they would have been in a dream. A groan escaped my lips as I struggled to sit. A hooded woman with exhaustion plain on her face pushed me back down.

"Don't," she said, her voice soft yet firm at the same time. "We just barely saved you, and I do not want that work to be for nothing. Thank Kynareth you are alive."

The cat-tiger said nothing, instead choosing to walk silently to a pillar and lean against it. She seemed happy to be able to watch me from a distance. I could just barely focus on her face without fuzz eating the image away. She really looked like a tiger, with reddish-orange forehead and darker red around the eyes. She was white around the muzzle and cheeks, her whole face streaked with black stripes not unlike a tiger's, but not like a tiger's either. Three large scars marred what I think would be called the bridge of her nose.

"Yes?" A sly, almost raspy voice asked.

It took me a long time to realize it was her talking to me, as I hadn't at all expected her to be able to talk, what with her not being human and all. But either way, I didn't have much room to talk about not being human, did I? So instead, not wanting to offend someone who obviously held no qualms about killing, I thought carefully before opening my mouth.

"Where are we?" That seemed to be the safest question I could ask.

"Whiterun, the temple of Kynareth."

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><p>There it was. A little bit longer than the first chapter but still not as long as i would like it to be. Does Danny seem ooc to anyone but me? He DID have 2 doses of skooma in a relatively short period of time and come back from the brink of death... but... Anyways, on your way out make sure you click the magical review button down there at the bottom. Those who don't are getting an arrow to the knee or a gaint's kick to the arse. Those who do can have a virtual cookie!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Welcome back, Internet. Good to see you. So, I really hated the way this felt when i first wrote it... but off I sent it to my beta and it came back a bajillion and one times better. But I still dont like it. Let's hope you do!

this chapter is brought to you in part by: Ember53608, who can be found here and on deviantart, and a great big bowl of chicken flavored ramen, that can be found in my cupboards.

Oh, and i don't own much of what is below, just sayin.

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><p>(Adarji)<p>

The pitch haired boy still looked weak. His cheeks were flushed and his limbs shook, but there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before. The spark of life. Content that he would live, I padded my way to one of the many pillars in the brightly lit temple and leaned against it. I had ridden hard to get here and had been up all night, waiting for the priestess' to finish their healing.

Exhaustion tugged at my limbs and weighed down on my chest. Even a khajiit could only go so long without sleep. Feeling the prickle of a gaze, I looked up, only to find myself caught in the stare of the child. He looked lost and confused. He held a look I had received from many, especially those who had never seen one of my kind before.

"Yes?" I questioned, trying to bring him back to the mortal plain. Startled, his gaze jumped around before landing back on me.

His mouth agape, he hesitated before answering, "Where are we?"

"Whiterun, Temple of Kynareth." I studied his face for a reaction of any sort. One of relief, or of recognition. Instead I was met with one of more disorientation. He had never heard of Whiterun, one of the nine holds of Skyrim. Everyone, from the Mer races to the Argonians, knew the names of all nine holds. So where in Tamriel was this one from?

He had an Imperial's hair; perhaps he was from Cyrodiil. Then again, he would have heard of the dragon attacks on Whiterun and would at least know its name. He could be from –

My thoughts were interrupted as he pulled himself onto wobbly legs. Looking around for the priestesses, I found them all slumped tiredly against one wall or another. I would have to make a large donation to cover for this.

The boy – this Nord skinned, Imperial haired Halfling- took a precarious step forward and fell to his knees. Relinquishing my now warm pillar, I moved to help him stand. He gratefully took my hand when offered, unlike most would have. I pulled him to his feet and threw his arm over my shoulder. Khajiits were shorter than the other races, resulting in my being about the Halfling's height. Half carrying, half dragging him, I made my way out the temple door, leaving a fat coin bag in the donation box on my way out.

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><p>(Danny)<p>

I was surprised when she offered me a clawed hand. Why someone who broke laws and killed others would be kind enough to help me… was beyond my comprehension. I knew that I was human, and I wondered why she was still helping me after that. Why would she bring me to a place where I could be healed after knowing something like that? And why would a thief spend money on someone she didn't know?

I shoved the questions away, instead focusing on trying to walk. Just outside the "temple" was one of the biggest trees I'd ever seen, soaring beyond the height of a huge statue of a man. In front of the statue stood a robed man, who seemed to preach about "the almighty Talos and how people are but 'mortal scum'".

The tiger-lady turned right down a cobblestone lane, in between rows of wooden houses. Some had thatched roofs; others had a scaly sort of shingle. Little kids ran across the road, playing games and whatnot. The sounds of laughter, talking, and music floated from one such building. A building called _Arcadia's Cauldron_; it had its own, odd aroma that tickled my nose.

Farther down the street rang the sound of metal being stricken. It was all so strange, almost like that one time I went to a Renaissance Faire. The khajiit was thankfully quiet the whole walk, allowing me to collect myself. She turned to a building close to a large wooden gate at the end of the road.

"Welcome to Breezehome," she announced, opening the door to a large pit with a fire and a pot. A few chairs circled the fire. A bookshelf lined one wall, while a dresser and shelves lined the other. Drying herbs hung from the rafters. A ladder like set of stairs led the way to the second floor, and a table sat in the back corner of the room.

The tiger-lady walked me to one of the chairs by the fiery pit and sat me down. She strode to a nearby chair and sat herself down, one leg over the other. Here came the questions.

"What foul magic is it that allows you walk through walls, shift forms and fly, boy?" Way to cut to the chase. She looked just about ready to pounce at any answer she didn't like.

"No magic." I held up my hands in defense, to which she tensed. "This was just an accident with ectoplasm in my parents' lab." It wasn't the whole truth, but the truth at least… Did they have labs?

She relaxed a little at the mention of "ectoplasm" and "lab". "An alchemy lab and ectoplasm?" she rasped.

You could say it was alchemy; alchemy was science, right?"Let's go with that. Look, Adarji-" Almost immediately there was a dagger to my throat and a furry snarl in my face.

"Who sent you?" She growled, and in that instant, she was definitely more animal than human.

"C-clockwork, the M-master of Time. He said you needed help." It was all I managed to stutter out. It made a few things click, too. Why would Clockwork send me here to be murdered?

Adarji stood up and placed her dagger back into her belt, then beginning to pace restlessly. "A master of time… **ha**! I am done with you daedric princes, done, and I will **not** do your bidding again. I have pledged myself to Nocturnal; is that not enough?" She ranted at the ceiling, and I started to formulate thoughts of a psycho tiger-lady. Definitely not appealing.

She turned back to me, a snarl still across her face. "You, get out of my house. I will have no Daedra worshipping scum in my sight." She pointed at the door, furious.

"Y-you're making a mistake! I don't even know what a Daedra is!" Daedra; note to self: avoid being friendly with Daedra… whatever that was…

"Get out," she snarled again, pulling out her dagger. "Go home; go back to your Daedra."

"I can't go home, not until I help you… He wouldn't let me if I tried, anyway," I added a little miserably. It was the truth; Clockwork wasn't going to send me home until my job was done. Then again, what guarantee did I have of him sending me home if I **did** get the job done?

The last bit seemed to pull a heartstring, but I was sure that it still wasn't enough. She furrowed her brow for a moment, concentrating; but within a second, it was all gone, and she was a rabid animal again. She lowered her dagger and pointed with her finger once more. "Out, or I call the guards."

Guards. That sounded… fun. Frustrated, I threw my hands up in the air, my own anger flaring. "Don't wanna believe me? Fine! I can survive! After all, I do have 'magic powers'!" Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I walk out, mentally face-palming myself repeatedly. Great job Clockwork, what next?

_ Try sitting outside her door._

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><p>Well, that is it for now... I do realize that Akatosh ( the master of time ) is a deity, not a daedra... but I couldn't figure out how to make this all work out if she referenced Akatosh as the master of time... maybe she thinks there is a new daedra? Eh, if you have a better way for me to write that, please let me know. Now then, it is time for you to click the magical button to the Narnia of reviews at the bottom of the page and let me know what you think! Thanks again to all the comments and follows, y'all guilt tripped me into writing this as soon as I did.<p> 


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